And my soul was a stagnant tide, Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride. Ah, less-less bright The stars of the night Than the eyes of the radiant girl! And never a flake That the vapour can make With the moon-tints of purple and pearl, Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curlCan compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless curl. Now Doubt-now Pain For her soul gives me sigh for sigh, Shines, bright and strong, Astarté within the sky, While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye. ELDORADO. GAILY bedight, In sunshine and in shadow, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old This knight so bold And o'er his heart a shadow Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. FAIR isle, that from the fairest of all flowers, No more-no more upon thy verdant slopes! Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more Thy memory no more! Accursed ground Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore, O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante! "Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante !" TO MY MOTHER. BECAUSE I feel that, in the Heavens above, My mother-my own mother, who died early, And thus are dearer than the mother I knew By that infinity with which my wife Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life. ISRAFEL.* IN Heaven a spirit doth dwell As the angel Israfel, And the giddy stars (so legends tell) Tottering above In her highest noon, The enamoured moon Blushes with love, While, to listen, the red levin (With the rapid Pleiads, even, Pauses in Heaven. *And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures.- KORAN. And they say (the starry choir Is owing to that lyre By which he sits and sings- But the skies that angel trod, Where deep thoughts are a dutyWhere Love's a grown up GodWhere the Houri glances are Imbued with all the beauty Which we worship in a star. Therefore, thou art not wrong, Best bard, because the wisest ! Merrily live, and long! The ecstasies above With thy burning measures suitThy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, With the fervour of thy lute Well may the stars be mute! Yes, Heaven is thine; but this If I could dwell Where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody, While a bolder note than this might swell From my lyre within the sky. |